A Good Man
by Sleepy Lotus
Summary: Set during DMC, just after Elizabeth finds Jack on Tortuga. Jack lends Lizzy his bed, but not necessarily his cabin. For the prompt "Something you said: through your teeth, when you were drunk, and I wasn't meant to hear."
A/N: Written in response to a Tumblr prompt for princesspenelopenerfherder. _Something you said: through your teeth, when you were drunk, and I wasn't meant to hear._

You can find me at apirateslifeforme123 on tumblr. Come plaaay with us! :)

 **A Good Man **

_Rating:T_

 _Setting: DMC, just after Elizabeth finds Jack on Tortuga._

* * *

He really did have a dress in his cabin.

"You look tired, love. Why don't you take my berth for a kip?"

She _was_ tired. She had not slept really, since stowing away from Port Royal. That, paired with the stress and worry about Will, her father, Beckett, and the full force of British law bearing down on them—she could only _imagine_ the ragged picture she presented at the dock.

Somehow Jack did not seem to mind, regarding her curiously with those bright polished mahogany orbs, the corner of his mouth pulled in a Puckish smile.

The garment in question was a white confection of fine lawn, a nearly diaphanous night dress and a _horribly_ improper thing for a lady to wear in proximity of _anyone_ who was not her husband. When she asked him _why_ he had such a thing in his trunks Jack just flashed a gold glinting smile, one eyebrow raised suggestively in an invitation to _guess._

To her surprise, he did not taunt her further, relinquishing his cabin to her privacy with a flourishing bow, grumbling through his teeth on his exit about his crew being only a _mildly_ villainous lot of scallywags, but still not to be trusted with a beauty such as her in their midst.

She didn't think she was supposed to hear that last bit, and the thought that Jack Sparrow found her beautiful despite her unkempt state inspired a _most_ vexing warmth to spread through her insides. She knew she shouldn't care for the infamous pirate captain's opinion one whit. She was _engaged_ to a _good_ man, and that was _that_.

Wasn't it?

With a sigh Lizzy changed into the night rail, for it was _luxuriously_ soft and her clothes were soiled with the finest filth Tortuga had to offer. It would have been a very grand gesture of appreciation to transfer that questionable muck into Jack's bedlinens.

The berth was surprisingly comfortable, a feather mattress no doubt nicked from some fat French merchant ship, and she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

He mind spun a hurricane of cacophonous dreams.

 _Lord Beckett and the entire Royal Navy pursued her, and caught her. As she was about to be clamped in irons by a redcoat she turned to see the soldier's face was Will's._

 _Suddenly Jack was there, swooping in by means of a rope and some improbable feat of acrobatics. He snatched her out of harm's way, his firm arm about her waist._

 _What are you doing here, Lizzy?_

 _I've come to find the man I love._

 _Ringed fingers in her hair, drawing her close._

 _Fire shadows glinting in eyes black as coal._

 _Eyes that could see straight into her soul._

 _Lips._

 _That insouciant mouth, so full and pretty, too pretty to belong to a pirate, nearing closer._

" _Jack…"_

Elizabeth sat up with a gasp, clutching the bedlinens to her chest. For a moment she couldn't remember where she was. Not a jail cell in Fort Charles. Not the hold of a ship. Not Tortuga.

The great cabin of the Pearl.

It all came back to her, and she relaxed a little, inhaling deeply. The linens smelled of _him_ , warm smoke, salt, sandalwood—and something else that was distinctly _Jack._ She found it comforting, and she didn't dare examine _why_ at that moment.

She looked about, finding the pirate captain in question lounging in his chair, his booted feet kicked up on his desk, hat pulled down low. Yet beneath the brim of his weathered leather tricorn she noticed the onyx glitter of open eyes.

He was awake, and he was looking at _her._

"Say somethin', love?"

Her heart made a good attempt at pounding out of her chest, and so she answered with perhaps too much venom, "You shouldn't be in here."

"It's my cabin."

"But you said—"

"I said you could have _my bed,_ dearie. But Marty snores like an African buffalo down below, and I would care to catch at least _a little_ sleep before the next watch. Was having a good go at it too, until ye started thrashing about."

She looked away, admitting sheepishly, "I was dreaming."

"Indeed?" He rose from his seat, crossing the cabin in a few long-legged strides. The insouciant rogue was even so brazen as to sit down _beside_ her, causing her to clutch the sheet closer. "Because I am certain I distinctly heard you say _Jack._ Were you dreaming of me?"

"No."

Her voice came softer than she meant it to, absent of the disdain and force it _needed_ to keep a rascal like Jack Sparrow at bay. He reached up to gently caress the tousled wave of her golden hair, and her eyes slipped closed of their own volition.

"Jack?"

"Yes, darlin'?"

He was closer now. She could hear it, _feel him_ , his warmth beside her like the scorching heat of a flame, but she dared not open her eyes. Elizabeth also detected the fumes of rum on his breath, and it reminded her of their island with a vengeance that made her heart _ache._

"Are you drunk?"

"Only a little."

No more than usual, really, but he knew he couldn't blame the rum for what he wanted to do. He blamed that deuced night dress upon her, so sheer and inviting, the neck slipping just a _little_ down the delectably round cap of her shoulder. A shoulder that _begged_ for the scrape of teeth, _just lightly,_ then a kiss to smooth it all over, and then…

She laughed lightly, waking him from his reverie.

She should have been afraid. She should have demanded he get out, or push him off the bed, or…

His fingers traced the shell of her ear, sending a damning thrill down her spine, and she did none of those things. Maybe she was still dreaming?

"I've been so frightened by all this mess. But the moment I found you, I knew everything would be alright," she admitted in a breathy whisper.

A small pained sound escaped Jack, and the fingertip that had so gently been exploring the line of her jaw froze _._

Why did she have to do _that_? Remind him that she thought he was a good man, when _she_ , the woman he could _not_ stop thinking about, was _here_ on his ship, _in his bed_ —the Gods had a cruel sense of humor, of that he was certain.

Suddenly he stood, swaying on his feet, intent on vacating the room before he did something they both might regret in the morning. There was something _burning_ in his eyes that she couldn't exactly read, or perhaps she didn't _dare_ define. "Get some sleep, love," he instructed, his voice gruffer than he intended. "Big day tomorrow."

With her lip clamped between her teeth she watched Jack scurry for the door, paying her a haunted glance over his shoulder before stepping out onto the deck. A breath she didn't realize she'd been holding escaped in a _whoosh,_ relief washing over her. Jack _was_ a good man, of that she had no doubt. But out here, caught up in the freedom of the high seas, it was perhaps _too easy_ to forget she was supposed to behave like a lady.


End file.
